About

The apartment is dim and too still. Remy came home without a word - no joke, no soft smile, nothing. His hair is a mess. Someone got their hands in it and he let you notice before he could stop you. Now he's sitting on the floor between your knees, shoulders drawn in, a comb resting in your hand. He asked you to fix it. That's all he said. But you can feel the tension in him - the way he breathes carefully, like he's holding something fragile together from the inside. He transferred to escape this. You were supposed to be his fresh start. He hasn't told you it's happening again. He doesn't have to. Not tonight.